It Helps A Little…

It started on the way to work today; something on the radio news program that set me to thinking about the state of the world at large.

And once at work, I run my morning routine; and then, with a bit of luck, I might have a few minutes where I can check a few blogs, maybe even put up a comment; do a few things before my boss arrives.

So I checked up on the story I had just heard on the radio; heard yet another from the desk radio behind me; checked on that one too, and then popped in to the Wakefield Doctrine; an unfortunate sequence of events.

The ” evil clown” seemed to reinforce a thread that I had to admit has been building up in my head for a while; a rant in the making.

The thread’s theme? I am very, very worried about the world that my niece Olivia is growing into. The one that she’s inheriting, and will have to find some way to be a functioning member of. She’s thirteen; it won’t be long now.

I am very worried for her sake. And my particular form of worry is to focus on things that I perceive as being especially and pointlessly insidious. I cannot prevent any of them from potentially harming her, and that in itself  somehow becomes all the more reason to have to focus on them.

The clown did not help.

Steel Panther helped even less; just knowing that the bastard spawn of Poison’s road crew? and some faceless groupies could possibly intrude on Olivia’s worldview is more than I could stand. Let’s provide those millions of hopelessly impressionable boys with yet another graphic example of how to victimize females. This is not rock and roll, it’s Rape 101.  I’d rather skewer the bastards on the point of an Enfield bayonet. And the clown. Enfields need love, too.

The two news items that began all this?

A video clip of a guy in LA, standing in an intersection and randomly shooting at anything.

Juliette Dunne and Lisa Jefferson. Sitting in a park in Bridgeport, Conn.; police found them force-feeding beer to Juliette’s children, ages 4 years and…10 months. The boy told police that he had to drink beer every day, and preferred Natural Ice over “the dogbite beer.” Both children tested positive for alchohol, and the baby also tested positive for cocaine.

2 Broke Girls. This is a CBS sitcom that airs at 8 pm. I have taken lately to seeing how long it takes the writers to insert a dirty joke into the dialogue. They started off with one truly objectionable joke per episode, but have quickly sped things up. Last night, they got a joke in about a threesome in under 10 seconds, followed by a line about batteries for dildoes by 20 seconds in. That must be some sort of record. This is not late-night cable; it’s prime-time network, and there are millions of innocent kids being exposed to this overtly graphic stuff. And that’s just one example.

  They will be slowly and irrevocably affected over time. Innocence can only be destroyed once. Olivia will invariably be touched by this and all the other offerings like it, the programs, rap videos,  Rihanna ( being beaten by her boyfriend…no, not the famous one, I mean the guy in her last video. ) Of all people…and why aren’t there any advocates for women anymore? Politically incorrect? Why isn’t anyone outraged? Why don’t they even notice?

 It seems that everything in popular culture these days is designed to undermine and destroy any semblance of innocence. Kids don’t have the slightest chance of escaping.

Mexican drug cartels. An interesting statistic; so far, 35,000 people have died in the drug wars. 1,000 of them have been children. Apparently, when one cartel attacks another, they’ve taken to killing  any children that they find at home if the prime target is not available. And the guns used are mostly from the U.S.; private-sector suppliers.

And speaking of private- sectors; if Newt Gingrich somehow manages to get into the White House, I swear I’ll head for Canada. I haven’t a very high opinion of politicians generally, but this revoltingly criminal slimeball may well be the only guy the Republicans have left standing. Whenever he’s questioned about any of  his dealings, he replies that” that happened when I was in the private sector.”

What I want for Christmas. I want to be Bob Newhart. In the office of the inn in Vermont. My spouse is tending the front counter, and Olivia is taking breakfast orders in the dining room. Life is sane, well-ordered, and safe. Humor is low-key and very tasteful. My comic timing is impeccable, and I just love it when the phone rings. Olivia dates a pleasant young man from nearby, and he’s quite respectful.

 It may be because he’s seen the Enfield in the corner behind Bob’s desk. And the clown mask hanging on the point of the bayonet. 

Thank you for listening. I can’t do anything about any of these things, but I always feel more grounded after I’ve released some angst. And I suppose that socks and underwear will once again suffice in lieu of an inn in Vermont.

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Published in: on December 14, 2011 at 8:19 pm  Comments (18)  
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